


It Starts With Desire

by Silver Lioness (Rumpels_Darker_Dearie)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Hermione is 16 - The Legal Age of Consent In Europe and The UK, Hermione is 17 By The Time She Is Pregnant, Tagged Underaged For Other Places, Voldemort As A Father
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-17
Updated: 2019-07-17
Packaged: 2020-06-30 09:26:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19850272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rumpels_Darker_Dearie/pseuds/Silver%20Lioness
Summary: Hermione is on holiday to visit her Greek relatives but a tall Yul Brynner Look-a-Like takes her interest.***Winner of theFAVOURITE PAIRaward 2019 - In The Dark Lord's Poison - Summer Fest******Winner of theDARK MARVELaward 2019 - Awarded by Christine Anderson - In The Dark Lords Poison - Summer Fest***





	It Starts With Desire

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to SAH for Beta-ing this for me.
> 
> This is influenced by Duran Duran's Violence of Summer song. A song from my childhood.
> 
> [](https://imgur.com/v4QlXTA)

_Don’t give me a drink, I don’t wanna get too stoned._

_Then gonna see who’s gonna take who home!_

_Duran Duran_

**It Starts With Desire**

When her parents decided to take her to Greece, Hermione thought she would have a quiet couple of weeks – reading whilst sunbathing. What she got instead was a noisy, crowded two weeks where she may as well have been invisible. One day she managed to sneak off without her overprotective cousins seeing her.

She lived to regret that day when, in October of that year she wound up in the hospital due to feeling ill, tired, and absolutely cross. There was her overly hormonal response to watching Ron catch lips with Lavender Brown. Also, her attitude irritated even Neville Longbottom, a boy who rarely let his frustration show, was giving her the cold shoulder.

Not only that, her school uniform fit at the start of term, but now it was too tight. How could she be gaining weight when she was vomiting, particularly caused by the scent of eggs; mayonnaise; sausages and coffee, and bananas; every morning, noon and evening. Nothing except water seemed to stay down and she was over it by now.

The only people who stuck close to her were Ginny and Luna. Ginny held her friend’s hair up and cooled her face down whilst Hermione was barfing up her tuna and sweetcorn sandwich. Luna rubbed her back. Her schoolwork hadn’t been affected – even with whatever bug she caught – Hermione still went over on suggested essay length despite napping every half-an-hour. Still held up her hands if she was energized enough to do so. She even managed to brew decent potions despite Harry doing somewhat better.

By October her skirt was not fastening, she growled with frustration as she tried to finish getting dressed. _Widening charm it is_ , she seemed to be doing a lot of those lately. Or finding a safety pin where it would join.

“That’s every week,” Ginny said as she ate just as heartily as her brothers did, although she did so with a touch more finesse. Hermione was too preoccupied to notice the concerned wrinkle of Ginny’s small brow at the way she picked at her food. “You’re hardly eating and what you do, you throw up. Come on, I’m fed up with this. Whatever hex or jinx should have worn off by now, despite your aversion to sports you’re slender but you’ve been putting on weight. So, Madame Pomfrey, now! I won’t hear another excuse.”

With that Hermione was being dragged up to the fourth floor to the hospital wing waiting until Madame Pomfrey was free.

“Neither of you looks hurt,” she complained.

Sighing with a roll of her eyes Ginny stood up, “Hermione is sick, Madame. Has been for months.”

“Since the start of term,” Hermione corrected.

“No, you were sick on the train and at the station, I was there both times remember.”

“Well then, you’d better come in.” No one spotted the telling eyebrow the Healer rose at this nugget of information.

The girls followed the Healer into a room with twenty beds, ten against each wall, neatly made and draped in clean pressed sheets.

“Just a preliminary question,” Pomfrey said as she rifled through the file cabinets to find Hermione’s medical history both magic and muggle and opened them to the start where there was always a fresh parchment waiting for the next visit. “Now, first describe to me your symptoms.”

“It’s just a bug. I was on vacation in Greece over the summer.”

“I’m the one qualified to decide that, Miss Granger, now Symptoms.”

“I throw up three times a day. The smell and scent of food make me sick, brewing potions is a stretch. As is my skirt, I use a widening charm at least once a week. I’m snappish and irritable and react viscerally to things like I cry more at the silliest thing, for example when Crookshanks chirrups as he jumps up on the bed, I could be in floods. Oh,” she sighed. “I have been so stressed out that I haven’t had a period since July. I’ve never been regular.”

“Hmm,” the Matron said as her quick-quotes quill jotted down everything Hermione said in lime green ink to match the robes. “Hop on the bed.”

Hermione needed Ginny’s help as she felt dizzy, “Let’s get some diagnostics, just the usual blood pressure, your heartbeat, your breathing and I’ll check your stomach, just a light belly squeeze.”

The cold metal of the stethoscope soon met the warm skin of her heart, “Breath in,” then “Breathe out!” Pomfrey repeated the steps on her back, “Chest seems fine, though your heart rate is a bit high. _Could_ be due to stress. Blood pressure,” she hovered her wand over the wrist, “That is high.”

“Just give me a Pepper-Up and I’ll be on my way.”

The elderly witch ignored her as she ordered Hermione to lift her shirt up, “Pepper-Up won’t cure what you’ve got.”

“Nope,” Ginny agreed.

“What is going on?”

“Just a simple charm that would give us the cause,” the Nurse said. “Graviditas Revelare.”

“Gra…” Hermione paled, “Nope! I’m not pregnant. Are you sure you cast the charm right”

“Of course I cast it right, I’m saying,” Pomfrey snapped. “That you’re going to be a mother in about five months. Who is the father?”

“Must’ve been someone I met on holiday,” her voice rose in panic. “I don’t know who else it could’ve been.”

“Where?”

“Greece,” she sighed, “I was holidaying with my, unfortunately, buff cousins. Imagine how protective your brothers are, Gin, and you can understand why I snuck off to the nearest spot. I wanted to hear myself think.”

“That’s too bad they’re your relatives.”

“So you’re paramour in this affair, is Greek?”

“No, a fellow holiday tourist, English.”

“He could be anyone.”

The witches swapped glances, “Just tell us the details Hermione,” Ginny said seriously, “we’re not judging you.”

“No,” Pomfrey said, “but as you’re going to miss a class you may as well tell us, we've client confidentiality.”

“The man – he was older than I – was bald, like an actor I liked, Yul Brynner,” Hermione blushed.

“He was quite dreamy in the day,” Poppy also blushed.

That soon doused Hermione’s flame for the man watching the school nurse become doe-eyed over her crush rather cooled her ardour.

“All my cousins are male,” she sighed, “and in their culture, they didn’t like it when a boy looked my way. I was particularly annoyed when we were at a club and only they were the men allowed to buy me soft drinks.”

Another glance exchanged between the two witches, whilst their storyteller remained oblivious, “So that is um -the place, but my cousin’s girlfriends all trooped in and that was the opportunity – the motivation,” Hermione blushed a deep crimson, “that the girls distracted my cousins. Then there were the beautiful Grecian sunsets on the sandy beaches and…”

**07th July 1996**

It was a Sunday, and this was the day that I had the most erotic encounter in my entire life. The day that I met my stranger lover –My cousins’ girlfriends were dancing their boyfriends away from me, masters of a distraction working their magic, so I could slip away.

There was a beautiful sunset – the sky bloomed like a rainbow, painted all its delicious colours, refreshingly vibrant. Or like the sun’s haze through flower petals had projected themselves onto the clouds. I sat on the beach with a pint of coke, and some lovely oranges with my sketch pad on my knee enjoying my peace and quiet. Then this chap comes up to me and sits right down next to me. He was pale, totally a burner, his skin was the colour of milk, so white. 

“Do you mind, I like watching people with talent.” His deep, rich voice reminded me of melted dark chocolate with a liqueur of almonds and a hint of cinnamon. His eyes were dark, deep, and mesmerising. I felt flattered this beautiful man was talking with me. “Your sketches are quite good; how long does it take you to do that?”

I felt a touch edgy, but I ignored it, “Half-an-hour,” I responded, “as long as it’s quiet.”

“Okay, okay, I just wanted to know, you can almost see what colour is meant to be where - how do you -er - how do you do that?” 

“With practice,” I said as I bent down to pick up the rubber as a cloud had just moved, “now I just have to…” I trailed off as I was finding my camera, “you don’t mind, do you?”

“Me?” he shrugged his muscular shoulders, pursing his thick and beautiful set of lips, he was Adonis in his glory, a chiselled chest that showed he worked out. Long lashes I was jealous of, his corded forearms – he had me at hello!

“I don’t know what the hell I’ve done…oh, there it is,” I picked up my camera and wound on the film so the image could imprint on the negative and so I pointed and was careful how I aimed and zoomed in, all to give my sketch the colour this sunset deserved.

“Can you move a bit so I can get this angle?” He obliged. I stood in a rather precarious position with my feet wide apart, giving him a free pass to glance up at my skirt. “Thank you. I hope I meet you soon Mr…?”

“Mr – a no-no,” he smiled, and I was fascinated by the change that had come over his countenance. “My name is Vladimir after my grandfather. My mother was overly fond of her father, but I’m British. ” he sighed. “Not easy having an a…never mind.”

“What an odd thing to observe, but I’m sure you bear it well,” I said warmly, this man was dishy, despite the bald head. I kept falling into his eyes, they were so mesmerising, “Do you want me to sketch you?” I blurted.

Vladimir was thoughtful then he replied in a quiet voice, “I would rather draw you,” he leaned into my space, making me nervous and excited. For the first time in my life, I felt like someone was noticing me as a woman. He picked up my sketch pad, “Just sit as you are.” 

I was flattered this sophisticated man wanted to talk to me, let alone immortalise me in my own sketchbook. He smelled of spices and leather, I was drunk by the sight of him. The man then took my pencils, they weren’t tools anymore. They caressed the paper-like lover's fingers. I imagined them on my skin. It was a tense hour filled with longing as he traced my contours without touching, using with soft strokes I never felt. When he finally proclaimed it finished he showed me, and I was stunned by his portrayal of me. 

“I look much older. Elegant.”

“How old…no no, let me guess?” Then he sighed and smiled, “You are such a beautiful,” he leant further in and stroked down my arm with the backs of his bent fingers, “and graceful creature.” He whispered against my flesh before pressing his lips to the inside of my elbow then trailed nibbles and pecks down my arm, “You are old enough to play, my dear, (kiss) sweet, (kiss) little (kiss) thing.”

“I’m sixteen nearly seventeen.”

“Do you want me, little dove?”

“I do,” I whispered, “but my cousins, if they find us would surely kill you probably literally and,” I said shyly. “I’m a virgin and if…,” I stuttered I blabbered on finding excuses that were becoming increasingly thin the moments they were said – I could see in his eyes how badly I tried to get out of it. Lamely, I finished with, “I don’t want my first time being on a beach where everyone can find us.”

Laughter followed this, he glanced up at me with a wide smile on his face drawing me in. _How could he be so confident?_ It almost wasn’t fair, that some people can go through life with so little to worry them. 

“I concede the point,” he sighed, “I’ll avoid you whilst your cousins are close by. But know this, I want you and I’ll haunt this beach until I have you. I’ll wait for you morning until night. How can I ignore such beauty?”

“I have a mind to you know,” I huffed, crossing my arms over my chest.

“I’ve no doubt about that,” he replied as he leant in and placed a gentle, chaste kiss on my lips, and I hungered for more. “I’ll be here.”

Then he disappeared. I knew I had to return, sketching in that area hoping to meet the enigmatic Vladimir, again. When I informed my extended family of my intentions to draw the seaside scenery in my patchy Greek, they were quite happy to allow me to go alone. Obviously, it was a harmless hobby that could not lead to trouble.

That night I carefully tore out the page of his sketch and traced the sensuous lines under the fading light before sleep. Vladimir was too talented. I placed his sketch between the pages of my Greek/English dictionary to keep it flat.

I only remembered flashes of my dreams, but they were full of milk-pale skin, chocolate-dipped voices and soft kisses that left me burning for more.

**~*~*~*~**

Morning arrived too quickly, interrupting a fascinating dream involving Vladimir, myself, and a huge wave whilst climaxing. He screamed my name and my eyes popped open. I was not ready to be awake. I groaned and covered my face with the pillow. Little did I know, how that day would progress if I had I wouldn’t have been so stubborn to start moving. I spent an inordinate amount of time in the bathroom where I tried my hardest to make myself look good with muggle methods. Would the yellow scarf in my ponytail be cute or distracting? I hesitated with my cosmetics; would it be trying too hard? I opted for some light foundation, smoky, blue eyeshadow, sable mascara and a bold, red lip. It was far from my normal look, but I wanted to look as grown-up as Vladimir made me feel.

“Mia – breakfast!” my aunt called; I ate sparingly. “More. All skin and bones!” I tried to wiggle away as she pinched my cheek.

My mother nodded in agreement. The longer she was in Greece the more her mannerisms and accent reverted. I wasn’t normally an adventurous eater though I promised myself to give everything a go unless it looked awful, on this trip. I dug into the delicacies provided. The happy surprise was I loved seafood, but not so much Greek curry. I did like different flavours of meat and the variety of textures in Greece. I cannot abide mushrooms. I tucked into breakfast with gusto, proving worthy of my Katsaros blood.

I couldn’t leave until I cleaned my plate, “I’ve eaten,” I held up the empty platter, “I’m going off to sketch now.” 

“Good. Come back for lunch we need to fatten you up. No man wants skin and bones.” 

“I will Aunt Maria,” I said eager to be out and I stole some bread, butter, a knife and cheese to nibble on while I was out. “See you in a few hours, Aunty.”

I made my way to the beach, carefully so I would not slip. It was quite remote and sparsely attended. My love for this country never waned, it only waxed. Perfect weather every day. Always something new to find. I tried to balance myself as I made my way down the precarious incline, but I missed my footing and slipped. An arm grabbed me around the waist and lifted me up before I fell.

“I told you I’d be here at all times.” His voice rumbled. He smiled, revealing dimples I did not see the night before. The morning sun caught his eyes, making them sparkle. There seemed to be a fire at the limbal line of his irises, glowing in the now crimson light of the sky, “How are you?”

“Better now that I’m seeing you,” I said, blushing. “How are you?”

“Same,” he said, an eyebrow quirked.

Most days over the following weeks were spent in Vladimir’s company. We were timid, even hesitant at first, every touch was new. Over time something changed, and we grew bolder with our touches. Lips lingered long with sweet caresses of each other’s tongue whenever we met or left each other. Our arms tangled in each other’s embrace. His hands were growing possessive never straying far from me. With each passing day as we sketched and hugged, kissed and talked, he was becoming my confidant. But what I wanted above all else was for him to become my lover.

Our happy bubble couldn’t last, Angelo, one of my cousins, insisted he would come along to see where I went every day. When Vladimir saw me with someone else, he caused a scene, picking a huge fight. He grabbed me pushing me behind him, “She’s mine.” 

From behind him, I said, “Angelo’s my cousin.” This changed nothing for him. Insufferable man! I was incensed at that suggestion he ‘owned’ me. 

Still eyeing Angelo and keeping me behind him, he said the strangest thing, “Marrying a cousin isn’t uncommon, I have a friend who married his cousin and they had two boys together.”

When he finally turned towards me, I was somewhat frightened by how his countenance had twisted. All the fires of the sun flared in his eyes, rage burning through them. I stepped around him so I could stand between them before it went any further. “Angelo had a girlfriend, Vladimir. I’m like a sister, not a lover.” This seemed to temper Vladimir, but he still stared down Angelo committing all his features to memory like he wanted to find him later to exact vengeance.

“It’s all right,” I crooned petting his neck to give my cousin a chance to run.

Instead, Angelo stupidly stood there and growled, “Mia, he’s old enough to be your father!” If only my Greek had been better than his English. Why was he saying this out loud? It was so embarrassing. “He should know better,” he groused. 

“Just go,” I said to Angelo. “Everyone’s entitled to a holiday romance and this is mine.” I should have slapped myself, why did I say that out loud? Vladimir was standing right here. 

The men eyed each other like tigers in the jungle. Then Angelo nodded and stalked off. I turned, levelling a glare at Vladimir. He was sitting down on the sand, his white shirt open and billowing around him with the breeze. His sleeves rolled up to his elbows showed off the corded muscle of his forearms and his chinos were rolled up to his knees. He looked like he’d walked off a cover of a Mills and Boon novel.

“What is it you see in me?” I blurted. 

He drew me close and whispered, “You’re beautiful,” he said, “and talented. I sense something about you, you’re powerful. I can almost taste it.”

“I don’t feel powerful in your presence. You smother me. But in a good way. I cannot imagine being with anyone but you,” I finished, quietly.

He laughed bitterly and shrugged, “You said it yourself. I’m just a holiday romance.”

“I said _that_ to appease Angelo, but honestly,” I bit my bottom lip, “I-I-I think I’m ready to take that next step. I know you as much as I know myself, I have wanted you from the moment I saw you. I knew then, you and I would - you know. Ugh, I want to stop blushing so easily.” I grabbed my cheeks trying to hide how pink they were.

He leaned in, “I’ve been waiting for you to truly know your heart before we crossed this threshold. Come,” he stood and offered his hand to help me up. “Let me know those secret places no one else knows, dearest dove.”

I bit my lip; I was going to do it. “I guess we won’t get any sketching done today. Perhaps we can find another way to pass the time?”

It was then he pulled me completely in his embrace. We swayed to unheard melodies, known only to ourselves. We were spinning, our hearts beating as one. Then, as if by magic, he and I were in a hotel room.

“How did you -I thought-” I could not finish any of my thoughts, they were still spinning. I took a deep breath. “Did we just Apparate?”

He gave away almost nothing except a small twitch at the corner of his mouth. “How would you know about that unless you’re a witch – you are – aren’t you?” His voice grew extraordinarily excited. “Small world. Hogwarts or Beauxbatons?”

“Hogwarts-Gryffindor,” I said. “Were you a Ravenclaw?” I really hoped that was the case, the alternative was much too serpentine for my taste.

“Yes. I was a right clever clogs!”

“Vladimir Evans,” I mused, “are you related to Lily Evans? My best friend’s mother was an Evans?”

His eyes widened a bit at the mention of my best friend, “ _Was_ an Evans? Your friend’s mother has passed? But no, no relation;” he sighed as he gazed upon me. He paused before leaning in to kiss me.

His kisses were worth living for, they were worth dying for. He was a master craftsman coaxing moans and groans from me, I was an apprentice in training all I had was enthusiasm. But he seemed to enjoy my touches. His nimble fingers reached up my shirt, unhooking my bra. When he pulled out his hand, he held it, he really was magic. “Now I know you’re a witch I can do this, ” he waved his hand and we were both naked. “The joy of magic indeed,” he said staring down at my body, hungrily. 

I looked down his body and gasped. “Is that going to fit?”

“Deliciously. Nature always finds a way,” he cajoled. Suddenly shy I covered my breasts up and clenched my thighs together, “Such a lovely young woman shouldn’t be ashamed or hide.”

“Young woman,” I repeated, feeling the blush to my hair. He walked to me and gently unfolded my arms away from my breasts. Then one of his hands stroked my thighs, separating my legs. “No one’s ever called me that.” 

“Because you associate with people who still see you as a young girl.”

The first time we had sex it was awkward, there was no doubt. I did not know what to do. I had bruises from that experience for the rest of my holiday and I was sore for days. I was so nervous I couldn’t enjoy the act. He curled around me when he was done and we both fell asleep. But when we woke later in his bed, the second round was much different – slower, sweeter. He was a patient teacher, showing me how to touch him how to please him, what to squeeze and how hard and the speed he liked.

It wasn’t just his body I was learning about. He showed me just how much I liked it when he touched me, sucking on my tits. My breasts have always been small, he managed to fit my entire breast in his mouth. Weirdly, I was reminded of a snake unhinging its jaw. He released my tit with a wet pop. Then he used his teeth to scrape over my skin. My nipples hardened to red nubs from his attention. 

His hands wandered between my legs, coaxing the wetness from my core. Clever fingers stroked and touched leaving me breathless, clenching with need. After my orgasm, he spread my legs wide and he gently pushed into me working a steady and slow rhythm.

Gods, the second time I swear I heard Bolero, each stroke was building taking me higher and higher at the crescendo cymbals clashed, trumpets blew, violins strummed along with the pounding of our hearts. Our bodies slid against each other easily, slick with sweat. We both smelled of sex that scent drowning all others out. His kisses were fevered and frenzied. I wanted to say words, but he kissed me until I had forgotten them and no more could be said.

My third orgasm came with his head between my legs as he licked me until I screamed his name. I was sure I had injured him because I clamped my legs around his head.

My fourth orgasm for that night was the best I’d had. I was on top and he was touching me. My breasts. My clit. My hips. He whispered compliments, things no one had ever said to me. Things that I longed someone to say. I roared when I came and fell into his arms, then we fell asleep in each other’s arms.

**October 18 th 1996**

The witches were positively panting to hear more, but Hermione suddenly felt shy, “That was my first and only night. ”

The doors crashed open and Ron and Harry stormed in. Ron spoke first, “Hermione, who hurt you?”

“No one hurt me. I’ve just - well, you know how I get things right first time with few exceptions?” the Weasley siblings nodded, Harry carefully watched her this was his sister. “I went through -uh- let’s call it a rite of passage on my holiday with a wizard,” she looked up through her lashes, “I’m pregnant,” she said eventually.

Harry seethed, “I’ll kill him.”

“Harry, no. This was just as much my fault as his. Before you ask, yes, I am going to keep it. Our children are the future for which we’re fighting for.”

Both of them were quiet for a long moment. “So, we’re to be Uncles?” Harry asked, “So this wizard, been in touch with him since?”

Whilst the friends went back and forth over what to do next, no one noticed the air ripple with a disillusionment charm as the person it hid slipped out of the hospital wing with news to tell their new Master. 

**October 20th 1996**

**Malfoy Manor**

An eagle owl swooped through the open window dropping down to the breakfast table bearing a missive from his newest recruit. Lord Voldemort removed the letter with a greedy grasp, tugging harshly onto the owl’s leg. He smiled; the note was what he expected. 

“Well, it appears congratulations are in order, I’m to be a father. Draco confirms it.”

His Death Eaters were too well trained to gasp or murmur, but all their faces had turned expectantly towards him. Narcissa spoke first. “Congratulations My Lord, how _did_ you know?”

“Ah well, you recall I like disguises. I took Polyjuice potion keyed to a fellow bald man. I had discovered an archive of Harpo the Foul was being kept by a small enclave in Greece. I happened upon an enchanting creature sitting on a rock, sketching the sunset and the fates must have been smiling for it was Potter’s pet mudblood. I wrapped the chit around my finger. _She_ met a wizard named Vladimir Evans who charmed her mind and heart. But ‘Vladimir’ might have placed a little fertility spell on her. Now it appears that she is pregnant.”

This time the gasps were audible. “But my Lord, she’s a-a-a mudblood!”

Lord Voldemort stroked his chin, “Indeed, now, the deception must end. Imagine the reaction when Dumbledore learns that Potter’s closest confidant was seduced. Narcissa, I will need a suite set aside for Miss Granger. She’ll need your assistance; she must be taught our ways. But first, she must be lured here. Use your imagination but I want her _out_ from under Dumbledore’s influence. That child is _mine_.”

Throughout the exchange, Bellatrix’ face had darkened becoming stormier with each word. “What was wrong with me my Lord?” Bellatrix whinged. “I’m better than a mudblood!”

Voldemort’s eyebrow twitched with her question. “As my lieutenant, I need you sharp and trained. ” Lord Voldemort sighed, offering her a flattering smile, “a baby would’ve slowed you down.”

Bellatrix sulked, “If my usefulness is best on the battlefield rather than in the nursery I shall do as you command, my Lord.” 

“I knew you would. Now,” he stood, “I have a letter to write to my _beloved_ ,” he sneered.

Bellatrix cackled, whilst Narcissa winced, This Hermione was stupid for being tricked. Maybe she should write a letter of her own to Severus. 

**Hogwarts**

**22 nd 0ctober**

It had been two days since her world shifted two feet to the left leaving her out of step and lost. A majestic eagle owl arrived late in the evening at dinner, which was out of the ordinary and dropped two letters. When Hermione looked at the first letter, she recognised the penmanship and blushed. Vladimir had found her!

“ _Dearest Hermione_.” It was all downhill from there. As she scanned the letter, she grew paler and paler and then fainted.

The nearest person to her at the table was Ginny who caught and laid her out on the table, Madame Pomfrey joined them immediately. 

There was a clap of thunder as Trelawney entered the Great Hall. She pointed a finger at Hermione, then her eyes rolled back into her head, her voice became a rasp as she gasped the words.

_“A two-sided coin, Janus is his name_

_So alike, but not the same_

_One to look forward one to look back_

_Only one witch who will not lack_

_In her duty of care_

_But hear me out, beware!_

_Five turns of the moon there will be_

_Before the whole world will see_

_That she whose vision lacks sight_

_Will bear twin sons that night_

_calamity they will come_

_If their fathers will be done._

Then the witch fainted. 

Much later that evening Hermione showed the letter to Madame Pomfrey who had been fussing over Hermione. They heard voices outside the doors. The Scottish brogue snapped at the other more measured, patrician voice, which Hermione vaguely recognised.

“Madame Pomfrey will back me. ” said the cultured voice, “You aren’t her mother either. I can offer her family, a home. Her education shall not suffer, she shall learn in comfort. May I come in, Madame?”

“Yes, you may.

The doors swept open and Narcissa Malfoy gracefully entered looking like the White Witch. She was dressed head to toe in white. A white fur hat covered long blonde hair arranged in soft curls. A white muff for her hands. The silken white robes clung to her like a second skin. Next, to her, Hermione felt like a sour-faced, hard-tongued, young girl. She would not be intimidated.

“I am sure this wasn’t in your plans, Miss Granger, but magical pregnancies are more successful when the parents are together. If you aren’t with the father you might deplete your magic to the point you lose it. Perhaps even die. You have five months to go, is that correct? It will get much worse by the end.” 

Whatever objection Hermione had the woman did not look as though she would entertain them. Hermione decided it was best for her babies not to argue the point for now.

McGonagall spluttered as she watched her precious cub walk hand-in-hand with Malfoy’s mother, “Madame Pomfrey, please convey my story to Professor McGonagall?”

~*~*~*~*

He was there waiting for her, his robes billowing in the biting wind the way that Vladimir’s shirt flapped in the summer breeze.

“What is going to happen to me?” she asked him levelling her gaze at him.

“You’ll bear my children, sons so I hear. ” He stroked her face with the back of his knuckles. “The only lie I told you was my name. I promise you that there will be no more lies. You’ll come to appreciate, maybe even love me, as you once did Vladimir. ” He reached into his robes and pulled out the sketch he drew of her that first night they met. “I copied that picture before handing your book back to you. Come now we should go inside; I wouldn’t want you to catch a chill. Let us inside where it’s warm.”

“What do I call you, now?”

“Voldemort, of course,” he smiled, “no more lies.”

“Angelo was right,” she sighed, “we _are_ wholly unsuited.”

“On the contrary my dear, I think you’ll find we are extremely compatible.”

“Fire and water.”

He quirked a brow, “Makes steam. Makes things work. It’s the heart of progress, dearest dove.”

“We’ll see,” she hissed.

Lord Voldemort hadn’t imagined himself as a father or a husband but now that the opportunity had presented itself he was going to have fun with her, turning her, moulding her, and shaping her into his perfect bride and mother of his powerful children.

It all started with desire, hers. But it was ending with his.


End file.
